While reading through the previous entry on Rome, I realized that one of the links isn’t easily accessible to most people because it directs readers to a locked entry on my old Multiply page, and for some reason, I can’t make it open to the public. It was about my first trip to Rome back in October 2007. Reading back made me realize how naïve I was about some things, but it also made me long for that wide-eyed innocence and romantic view of Europe.

My writing was rawer and more revealing back then; it came with the range of emotions. Over the past four years, I’d learned to be more careful (smarter, maybe) about men, strangers and traveling. At that time, I seriously contemplated spending the day with the stranger—not something I’d do now, so I’ll just cherish the experience and chalk it up to memory. So here it is below, a slice of Rome from a 22-year-old Bianca’s perspective:

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This photo by the Spanish Steps is actually from the 2009 trip

So here's one from 2007. By the Fontana di Trevi, right before the encounter with the Italian stranger

It was a wonderful Roman holiday, with perfect weather—for the first time in my entire European trip, I wore a dress and flip-flops: no heavy overcoat, no practical sneakers. I felt great when I left the apartment in Balduina yesterday; I put on a white cotton dress and walked out into the late summer sunshine.

At the piazza near the Gelateria di San Crispino, I had gelato, reportedly the best in Rome: meringue and hazelnuts, Valhrona chocolate, honey ice cream–I tried several cups. On my first day, I stood by the fountain for an hour, watching the tourists pose for photos, coins in hand, poised to throw them into the fountain.

While I was at the Fontana di Trevi yesterday—my second visit to the fountain—a man with light brown hair came up to me. “Ciao,” he said.

“Ciao,” I replied, thinking that it was so nice of the Italians to be friendly with everyone. Then he started speaking in rapid Italian.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I stammered. At the same time, I was thinking of how good he looked in his suit—there were a lot of businessmen in suits and ties in the area. He looked just a couple of years older than me.

He smiled, switched to English, and extended his hand to introduce himself. “I’m Bianca,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Bianca,” he repeated. “Your name is Italian.”

Oh, the folly of memory: I remember that he wore a dark blue suit, a light blue shirt and a blue tie, that his hand was warm when he shook mine, how his voice sounded: but I no longer remember his name or the exact color of his eyes, only that they glinted in the afternoon sun. Maybe I wasn’t listening properly, only looking in amazement at this stranger who suddenly decided to come up and talk.

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One of the things I’m most grateful for is having had the chance to travel on my own to some of the most awe-inspiring places in the world, and Rome is one of them. Prior to this particular trip, I’d already been to Rome (for four days in 2007) and thought it was the most astounding city I’d ever seen. When I went back in 2009, after a three-month study trip in Berlin, I made sure to stay for the whole of Holy Week. The result: a fresh look at the city and how it dealt with the thousands of people who came on pilgrimages.

Considering I spent almost two weeks roaming around Rome (and the outskirts of the city) mostly alone, it got a little lonely on some days. But it also gave me time to reflect on what I wanted to do with my life, and to be thankful for what was given to me. I managed to do what is still so far the best Visita Iglesia of my life. I also heard mass at the Vatican several times and did the Way of the Cross with the Pope right beside the Colosseum. I went to the Vatican museum and bought a rosary with blue cloisonné beads that I take with me everywhere. All of that, while having sublime gelato, pasta and pizza in between churches—and believe me, there were many.

Just sharing a few snapshots from that 2009 trip. I haven’t had a Manila-based Holy Week in years, so I’m savoring this one because I’ll hopefully be in New York next year. After that, only God knows where we’ll all be next!

Polish pilgrims at St. Peter's after the Palm Sunday mass

Via Crucis right beside the Colosseum, imagine how surreal that was! I stood in the crowds for hours for a prime spot. That's the pope right there under the red tent.

During the Easter Sunday mass, also at St. Peter's. There were so many Filipinos, and it was pretty hard to get through the gates because of the sheer number of people.

Crowds waiting for the Palm Sunday mass at St. Peter's Square

Guidebooks for sale

Raphael's Transfiguration on display at the Vatican Museum

'The Last Judgment' by Michelangelo at the Sistine Chapel. That's a stolen shot from inside my bag; visitors aren't supposed to take photos. Also, the painting's colors are really vivid to the point of being garish.

Long lines at the Vatican

At the Bocca della Verita (it's in a church) on my Roman Holiday day

Ecstasy of St. Theresa

Rome at dusk

A strong Cosmopolitan, which I pointedly ignored at an event. Compare that to whipping your back raw.

I’m not an alcoholic. But when all your friends are chilling by the beach at sunset, cocktail in hand, it’s a struggle to not be able to join them and get buzzed together. Then I remembered the Holy Week sights from when I was a kid and suddenly felt small for giving up such a small thing, primarily because I have only a couple of glasses of wine a week. Every summer, on the way to Bataan, we always encountered a group of flagellants, flesh raw from whipping their backs, blood dripping on the dusty roads:

An outtake from Ryan Fernandez's 2006 exhibit at Fordham, entitled "Panata." Of course, the people who saw the images in New York were shocked and appalled. Here, it's just another Holy Week practice for people in some provinces.

"Reyna," also from "Panata"

(On a side note, if you want to learn photography  and painting from Ryan and/or his co-teachers, visit the Tinta Art Workshop)

This year, I decided to give up alcohol for Lent as a way to give thanks for a lot of things that were given to me, and for some things I’m still fervently praying for. Not that a sacrifice and a lot of prayers are a surefire way of getting something you want, but it feels good to give up something. The other night, a friend reminded me that I haven’t had a normal Holy Week in years; in 2007, I stayed home to work on my thesis while my family went to Vigan; 2008, I spent the whole week at a friend’s house; 2009, I was in Rome for the entire duration of Holy Week (which was crazy, crowded and just breathtaking).

The Colosseum by night--did the Via Crucis (Way of the Cross) on Good Friday, which was presided by the Pope

Polish pilgrims in St. Peter's Square on Palm Sunday

Michelangelo's "The Last Judgment" at the Sistine Chapel. People aren't supposed to take photos, but I managed to sneak a shot by taking it from inside my bag.

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